Opportunity
by humanveil
Summary: Perhaps it was because she was bored, or maybe it was the wine that made her do it. Either way, when a reporter knocks on her door, words of persuasion already tumbling from her lips, Bedelia finds herself accepting the proposition.


Freddie's clothes are soft beneath her fingertips, the fabric of a good quality. Bedelia wraps the shirt around her fingers and pulls upwards slowly, revealing inches and inches of smooth, pale skin. Beneath her, Freddie arches upwards, allows her to pull the cloth from over her head and throw it to the floor. It reveals a deep crimson bra, mostly made of lace.

She is undoubtedly beautiful. Bedelia can appreciate that, even if she isn't entirely sure why she let her in.

She thinks, maybe, that it was the wine. She'd had two bottles before the knock had sounded, had been prepared to ignore it in favour of another glass, but Freddie had been insistent with her knocking. And there has been a lack of surprise in Bedelia's life as of late.

Or, perhaps, it was because she was bored. Horribly, horribly bored. The absence of Hannibal has left some kind of void, something no one else had been able to fill. There's a lack of excitement, a lack of adventure. A lack of something she can watch and observe and have fun playing with.

So when she had seen Freddie, had recognised her, Bedelia had let her through.

She was a woman of opportunity, after all.

They had barely made it down the hallway before Freddie was talking, offering. She was so eager for information, Bedelia could have laughed. When the proposition had finally been made – not verbally, of course, more in the way Freddie had leant towards her, had touched her – Bedelia had accepted.

And _that_ , that was definitely the wine. Or the loneliness. They tended to intertwine, these days.

Now Freddie lies beneath her, bending at her will, arching into her touch. Bedelia kisses her harshly, smudges the bright red that paints her lips till it colours both their chins, and drags her hands across her body. Freddie's skin is enticing in a way Bedelia isn't familiar with; the perfect stripes of creamy white leaving her with a desire to ruin the flesh. To mark it.

So she does. Perfectly trimmed nails scratch the skin, leaving pinkish marks in their wake that Bedelia follows with kisses. Gentle ones, this time; her lips dragging down Freddie's stomach, her teeth nipping every now and then, leaving light bruises. Above her, Freddie gasps and moans, red curls spanning over Bedelia's sheets as her head is thrown back.

Bedelia removes the rest of their clothing quickly, letting it fall to the floor without a care. Her focus is instead on the toned legs; her hands making their way up smooth calves to scratch at thighs, and further up, until her fingers are engulfed in a warm, wet heat.

She smirks, pleased with herself when Freddie gasps, and follows the movements with her mouth. Licking, biting, kissing, until Freddie begins to fall apart beneath her, because of her.

She continues her actions until Freddie is trembling, till her thighs are quivering where they rest beside Bedelia's head. Till the only thing Bedelia can hear is moan after moan leave Freddie's mouth, like music to her ears.

When Freddie finally comes, her back arched, her mouth open in a silent cry, Bedelia feels oddly accomplished. She'd managed to stop the questions the other woman had been murmuring since she'd got here, had managed to turn her perfect composure to a panting, sweaty mess.

It doesn't last. Bedelia hadn't thought it would.

After another round for the both of them, Bedelia only gives herself a moment to lie there and cherish the feeling before standing. She wraps her gown around her, a royal blue silk with her initials embedded, courtesy of Hannibal, and walks to the kitchen where she pours another glass of wine.

She downs half of it and waits, hip resting against her kitchen counter as she stares at the hallway. As expected, it's not long until Freddie emerges; dressed as she was before, save the look of complete and utter control she'd held.

Bedelia offers her a drink, one that is predictably turned down. There's a somewhat awkward silence that follows, the two of them glancing at each other until Freddie finally crumbles and asks her outright; about Hannibal, about their time in Italy, about Will Graham.

Bedelia smiles into her glass and finishes the rest of the liquid before replying. Her tone is cooler now than it had been before, more impersonal. As if Freddie were a patient.

"You didn't really think I would tell you anything, did you?"

She watches Freddie carefully as he comprehends the words, reads each emotion that flashes behind her eyes like a book. The surprise, the anger.

The reaction is predictable, though hardly as entertaining as Bedelia had anticipated.

Freddie stutters for a moment, tries again, but eventually drops all pretences at being nice. She tries threats, tries scathing words, but they all fly by Bedelia as if they're nothing.

Perhaps, to her, they are.

Eventually Freddie storms off, the front door slamming shut behind her. Bedelia watches with a blank face, stays completely still until she's long gone.

And then, like routine, she turns and opens another bottle.


End file.
